


A Strange & Distant Star

by WoozySloth



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Comedy, Drabble Collection, Gen, Light Angst, Magic, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Nudity, Shadow Puppets, mid-game spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozySloth/pseuds/WoozySloth
Summary: Joker has many (well, maybe five) strong qualities. The way he expresses them is sometimes...unusual.





	1. Internal Surveillance

PROFICIENCY

_September 7th_

_'Ryuji, you've got crap in your eyes.'_

Ryuji made a sound that was somewhere between "What?" and "Huh?", then rubbed at his eyes.

"Holy shit, she's right..."

"How could you tell, Futaba?" Ann asked - out loud, perhaps somehow intuiting that she would be heard even though her question wasn't being texted to the (technically) non-present hacker.

_'You surprised?'_

_'I snuck an app on Ren's phone.'_

_'I can see all I want through his camera!'_

_'You're looking now, right Ren?'_

_'Mwehehe. You can't underestimate the original Medjed.'_

Ryuji looked a lot less impressed than Ann.

"Talk about a nasty trick."

"I am so glad she's not an enemy of ours." Makoto, ever practical.

Ren was looking at the phone, one hand on his chin, considering it. He raised it up, brought it closer to his face.

_'Hey, what are you up to?'_

Ren opened his mouth wide, giving his phone - and one Futaba Sakura - a decent view of his uvula.

_'Ugh!'_

Ryuji started cackling. Makoto and Ann shook their heads in joint exasperation.  _Boys._

Ren brought the phone even closer to his mouth.

Then closer still.

Ryuji's laughter started to die off.

"Uh, dude?"

_'HEY'._

The phone was in Ren's mouth.

Makoto stared, completely uncomprehending in a way she hadn't been since first entering the Metaverse.

Ann's hand was over her mouth, and if her peers had thought her 'exotic' eyes were unusual before, they would be shocked at the size to which they had widened now.

In a rare enough instance, Ryuji and Futaba, unbeknownst to each other, were in perfect sync.

"Nononononononono!"

_'Nononononononono!'_

Ren swallowed. 

The ensuing chorus of screams from the Phantom Thieves was enough to draw the attention of even the weariest, most jetlagged travellers.

Miles away, someone who happened to be passing by the Sakura residence bolted clear out of the alleyway, then the street, then the entirety of Yongen-Jaya in startled terror. This unfortunate passerby would eventually make their way to a reclusive temple, where they would embark on a decades-long spiritual journey, culminating in a triumphant return to the clearly haunted house to conquer their fears and exorcise the tortured spirit within.

They would then be presented with a very pleasing curry/coffee combination by a very embarassed, very elderly Sojiro Sakura. So things didn't end too badly for them.

Coming back to our...hero, Ren was still very much the centre of attention. The entire airport seemed to be staring at him - Ren didn't seem to notice, standing there with his hands in his pockets and a serene not-quite-there smile those who knew him were very familiar with.

Then he buzzed.

No other sound seemed to exist but for the buzzing that emanated from his very being. It seemed to go on forever.

Ren raised a hand.

There was a mass intake of breath.

The hand began to move behind Ren's back.

Ren's hand, which had cast spells, slayed and summoned demons of the collective unconscious with but gestures, and quite recently shot a gun into the face of a giant flying sphinx, had never before been the centre of such attention.

The Hand, as those watching had come to think of it, started to move lower, to a backside now observed with more trepidation than perhaps any rear in history.

Ryuji whimpered pitifully as The Hand -

\- slid into Ren's pocket, and retrieved his phone.

He managed to get through about ten minutes of Snowboard Kids before airport security tackled him to the floor.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I practice magic in my free time. Sleight of hand. But it's always a good idea to demonstrate to your peers that you're capable of surprising them."

A not-quite-there smile.

"Plus it's always fun to see Skull faint."

Sae Nijima had long ago abandoned decorum, and buried her head in her hands.

She mentally discarded the 'airport phone incident' as being relevant to the case.

Although it might say something about the accused's mental state.

"I can show you how I did it if you-"

"NO."

 

 


	2. Royal Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Debonair" is not exactly the word I would use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that, though my characterisation of Protag is something of a not-all-there troll, I'm not going to write something where he sends an unsolicited picture of his genitals to anyone.  
> Sentences We Never Thought We'd Write...

**"CHARM"**

"I showed her a photo of you..."

"You do always look a little...disheveled."

Internally, Makoto winced a bit. Had that been harsh? He didn't seem fazed. But then, he never seemed fazed. By anything.

It wasn't like it was entirely her opinion. Eiko was the one who had been critical of his looks, she'd just...agreed.

'Disheveled' wasn't the same as 'ugly' anyway!

He wasn't saying anything. But he never really talked that much, so maybe that was okay?

Dammit, those glasses really hid his almost total lack of an expression quite well.

Social links were hard, thought Makoto.

It was while she was wondering at that distinctly unnatural choice of phrase by her internal monologue (social 'links'? What?) that a bag full of cat was thrust into her arms.

Makoto considered hereself to be a fairly erudite young woman.

"Whuh?"

Most of the time.

Annnnd he was walking away now. 

_'Great work Queen. Offend the main chara - the person who pulls the student body out of physical, sexual and financial abuse by fighting demons on a semi-regular basis.'_

"Hmm."

Morgana was poking his head out of the bag. Was a cartoon cat going to tell her she was socially inept now, she wondered? That was how things were going.

"He must be up to something."

This stalled the firm "get back in the bag" she was about to lay on him. Checking to see if there were any students nearby (not that there was a crowd loitering around the student council room at all hours, but it never hurt to be cautious,  _Sakamoto_ ), she leaned in -

"What do you mean by that?"

Morgana looked up at her, and she noticed how his bright blue eyes looked slightly too big for his 'normal' cat face, how the glimmer of human intelligence made them look even stranger, more unnatural.

"That guy...he's not the type who gives up."

* * *

 

_"Clear your mind and focus on your center!"_

_He'd really like to clear his mind, because currently it was distracting him with the idea that hey, didn't his bed look pretty comfy from this angle?_

_As for his center? His center was nothing but a roiling mass of 'why did you drink so much protein, you idiot?' ._

_The discomfort merely spurred him on. Spite was a powerful motivator._

_"Don't give up! Push past your limit!"_

_The heat was unbearable. His arms were aching. Scratch that, his entire body was aching. He was pretty sure he'd gotten a splinter from the roof beam - the cost of using something that was very much not safety tested gym equipment._

_He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up on the floor, when just a second ago he'd been hanging from the ceiling. Had he lost consciousness?_

_"We still have time."_

_There was a voice coming from the distance._

_"Wanna do another set?"_

_He didn't have the strength to look at the demon that wore a feline's face._

_But he did have the strength to nod._

_"I'll do another."_

* * *

_"Hey man, what's up?"_

_"Let's train."_

* * *

 

_"Hey, are you still alive? That was quite a fall there."_

_He could feel something running down his face. Was he crying?_

_Ah, no. It was just blood from where he'd smacked his nose into the treadmill controls._

_Welp. Better get back to it._

* * *

 

_"S'up?"_

_"Let's train."_

* * *

_His hands ached. Which might have something to do with the wood he was smacking them against._

_No, he hadn't gone to Shinjuku for the night. His personal trainer had gotten him into some martial arts._

_He took back what he'd thought about that beam giving him splinters because it wasn't gym equipment. There was simply no escape._

* * *

_"Hey-"_

_"Train."_

_Ryuji wouldn't need that hair dye soon. It was going to turn white for him all on its own._

* * *

_His personal trainer (he really needed to learn this guy's name) was beaming at him with pride._

_"Alright...I guess I've taught you everything I can. Now devote your heart into it!"_

_He was pumped. Primed. There was an enthusiastic "Yes, Sensei!" just waiting for him to scream it out._

_(In a supermarket many, many miles from the city, a gaggle of children stared, confused, as their beloved mascot stopped and looked at some far-off point in the distance, daring someone to "just try it".)_

_"Into mortal combat!"_

_Wait, what?_

_Despite his strange relationship with many of his teachers, none of them had ever roundhouse kicked him in the chest before._

_So that was new._

_He pulled himself up from the pile of gym equipment. Across from him, his trainer did a rather familiar nose flick._

_"Bring it!"_

_Morgana wasn't exactly a pinnacle of normalcy, he'd admit, but he just knew he'd never get used to this guy._

* * *

 

"Morgana."

"Huh?"

"You've been staring into space for five minutes - I thought you might have had a mental shutdown."

"Uh, no, I'm good."

"...alright. So then, what do you think -"

Her phone chimed. Picking it up, she frowned upon seeing who it was from. Was the leader of the Phantom Thieves already enacting some sort of devious revenge for a minor slight?

She opened the message.

* * *

 

If there had happened to be a student walking by, said student would have seen the normally calm and composed Student Council President drop a schoolbag, which made a yowling noise not usually attributed to containers of academic textbooks, notes and sometimes all the components needed to craft a remarkable variety of break-in tools.

They would also have seen the aforementioned SCP - who rumour had it was actually an incredibly sophisticated gynoid that Principal Kobayakawa had commissioned a government connection to build for the purposes of ruling over the student body with an iron fist - drop her phone, then hit it up into the air while trying to catch it, then hit it again, and do so again and again for what seemed like forever, as if it were a particularly uncooperative bar of soap.

Of course, had this hypothetical passerby observed anything of the sort, no one in Shujin Academy would ever, ever believe them.

Besides which, Nijiima was scary.

* * *

_'Will this work?'_

 

Makoto didn't know why she was sputtering - it wasn't like the cause of her des...her ire was around to be sputtered at. But it seemed like the appropriate response.

She composed herself. What followed was a series of curt messages ordering him to come back, pick up Morgana, and  _put his damn shirt back on, please._

Then they would head out on their "double date".

* * *

 

 

Elsewhere, the great Alibaba was making preparations for her own reformation, by gathering intel on her potential 'employees'.

She had to keep an eye on not only their group chats, but also conversations between individual members, lest she miss anything important.

Speaking of...

* * *

 

Sojiro Sakura was making dinner when he was startled by a crashing sound upstairs.

"Futaba?"

"Hnnngh..."

"Futaba!"

Whataver he expected to find when he burst into the room, Futaba being sprawled out on the floor after falling off her chair might have been part of it.

The fullscreen picture of some faceless young man's (quite well-defined) abs, laid bare through the novel method of using his teeth to hold his shirt up, was not.

"I'll uh...you okay?"

There was a whine that struck the right note between plaintive and faintly affirmative for him to feel okay about awkwardly excusing himself.

"Well. Dinner's in five. I'll-bring it up?"

A thumbs up came from the heap on the floor.

"Right. Uh, right."

The door shut. The great and powerful hacker pulled herself up from the floor. 

Looked at her screen.

"Annnd saved."

For a second, she debated the morality of her actions.

"....mwehehehe."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to put another version of this into a different fic.  
> Which isn't to say it will happen, mind, just something to watch out for in possibly vain...expectation? Dread? Apathy (Syndrome)?


	3. Key To Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one way to pet a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight tonal shift, and I don't mean it's suddenly a songfic (although...)

A KIND OF KNOWLEDGE

Mona was confused.

This wasn't _just_ a general statement - Mona's life had been, and continued to be, a constant cavalcade of confusion.

But this was a very specific confusion. He'd told Joker they needed a lockpick to open this chest. Fairly straightforward, if temporarily disappointing, it would also make a good case for further lessons on the subject of infiltration skills and tool-making abilities when they left the Metaverse (somewhere in the back of Mona's admittedly oversized head, a seed of 'not-special-enough' was already sprouting).

They should have already been moving on. So why was Joker just...looking at the chest? 

He'd been looking at it for - well, for a while. Time was a little weird in the Metaverse. The rest of the team was looking at the scene sideways too. Yes, Joker had his moments of out-and-out strangeness, but this seemed different. They'd asked him what was up, and he'd just sort of grunted, rather than said something off-the-wall, brilliant, or both.

Was he that frustrated at their current inability to open it? Their infiltration had barely begun, they were clearly going to have to come back another day, so why not just leave it for now? They could swing by and get it on the next go-round, no problem.

Maybe that was it - that there would have to be another day, another stage of the infiltration. They would have to come back, have to fight, run, jump, stare death in the face. Perhaps this chest - innocuous as it was - represented all of their leader's frustrations with Palace infiltration. Day after day, monster after monster, a life the average human mind wasn't made for. Had it hit Joker just now? 

What was that saying - the straw that broke the camel's back?

Well, they needed this camel to carry them across the desert of humanity's collective unconscious (oooh, poetry. Wouldn't Panther be impressed?), so there was no time for whatever this was. Mona readied his fan - maybe this was a spell, and even if it wasn't, they needed Joker to snap out of it and get a move on.

Of course, just as he was about to unleash Harisen Hell, Joker decided now was the time to speak.

"Skull."

Mona fell flat on his face like the cartoon cat he resembled. Everybody - especially Skull - jumped.

"Uh. Yeah?"

"Come here a minute."

Noticeably hesitant compared to his usual gung-ho attitude, Skull cautiously approached Joker and the chest.

Joker beckoned him closer. Reluctantly, Skull leaned in so that Joker could whisper in his ear.

Sometimes, it seemed like Skull had his codename not just because of his mask, but because of the way he grinned when he was excited. This was one of those times.

Then he laughed, raised his weapon (a bat, today) over his head, and brought it down on the chest's lock.

It made a hell of a noise, but the lock was still there.

Mona snorted.

"Come on Joker, if it was that easy-"

Skull hit it again.

"I mean, we'd-"

Again.

"Skull, don't be an idiot!"

Again.

"You're not even aiming!"

Again.

"You'll break the chest before you..break the..."

The lock was practically caved in now, barely hanging on.

Skull brought that big metal bat down one more time.

The lock bounced off the floor. A similar thing happened to Mona's heart.

"Ha! How's that for a lockpick, Mona?"

Hours of time spent at a desk, coaching, shaping talent from hands unaccustomed to such delicate work.

Wasted.

Just one more thing he could do that was completely redundant.

"We can make other things, Skull! It wasn't just lockpicks. We were already working on one that could -"

"Yeah, yeah. Man, we shoulda thought of this before instead of just listenin' to your crap."

"Mmm. Shame it didn't work."

That was Joker. Skull and Mona both turned to him in surprise, and their leader held up a shattered...something.

"Rattled the insides too much. Back to lockpicks."

"Ha!"

"Ahh, shut up you stupid cat."

They bickered for the remainder of their time in the Palace - which wasn't long. Joker's hand cramped up, seemingly at random, and they had to abandon their infiltration in short order. All in all, it hadn't been one of their most successful outings.

But as the leader of the Phantom Thieves carefully wrapped his injured hand later that night, it wasn't the small progress they had made, the 'lost' item, or the pain that had come from crushing it between his fingers that occupied his thoughts.

It was those too-big blue eyes, heartbroken. It was hours spent carefully turning crude material into practical resource.

The voice - from such an unlikely source - that instructed him. Full of pride. Of affection.

Of a desperate need to be needed.

A leader had responsibilities to his team.

It wasn't kindness, he thought. Just practical.

Yeah, that was it.

Practical.


	4. Expose the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Partial nudity. How partial it is depends entirely on your imagination.

**"GUTS"**  
  
Yusuke Kitagawa was not exactly a picture of normality.

He was at least somewhat aware of this - he'd balk at being called something so crass as "eccentric", but it was inevitable that, as one devoted to art, he would see the world a little differently. It had also not escaped his notice that things which struck his peers as strange or surprising would sometimes fail to elicit as powerful a reaction from himself.

But right now, Yusuke was experiencing something quite strongly indeed, and for perhaps the first time.

A thoroughly 'normal' social reaction.

He had made quite a normal request, as far as he was concerned.

"You will have to be my model today."

Well, not so much a 'request', but his model seemed willing - something Yusuke had learned was actually important.

Besides, it was for art's sake. To represent the anguish of Christ as he bore the sins of humanity? There was no room for squeamishness.

At least, that's what Yusuke had thought before he turned around, brushes in hand, to find his model/assistant/saviour/leader in rather less clothing than he had assumed would be present.

Right in front of the altar.

Yusuke was not very often at a loss for words. But he was currently experiencing what one might call a "404 error".

His model didn't speak. Yusuke was aware of his friend's tendency to be less than explosively emotive. Even Yusuke's own often relaxed (in his own opinion) nature paled in comparison. But this was a whole new level. There was his model, stripped down to - here Yusuke briefly let his eyes travel down and then rapidly snapped his head back up to eye level with a blush - stripped down in a church, as relaxed as if he were in his own home.

"Make me beautiful."

Yusuke opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

It took a full minute for him to recover his voice.

"While I admire your...dedication, I'm not sure this is-"

He stalled. Was he censoring his subject? Surely, such devotion to artistic purity could only be commended. Hadn't he himself always desired to push boundaries in pursuit of beauty? The Christ figure  **was** quite scantily clad after all.

"Yes, I have to agree with your friend young man."

Yusuke quite abruptly lost his train of thought.

He slowly (agonisingly so, it seemed) turned round to find himself face to face with the priest.

"I can't imagine why you would think this is appropriate behaviour."

How to explain this? As had happened many times before in their other life, his subject came to the rescue.

"It's an art study."

The priest's face froze. Yusuke could sympathise - it was possibly the most brazen tack they could have possibly taken but...it was true, wasn't it?

"Ah yes. I was - I am attempting to paint 'anguish', so I decided to use the crucifixion of Christ as a point of reference. My model..."

He stopped, not wanting to sell out his partner in crime, and also just completely at a loss as to what to say.

"I wanted it to be authentic."

Yusuke almost cried at this proclamation. What astounding devotion to art!

The priest searched their faces, as if he really could peer into their souls. Eventually he sighed.

"I see. Well, it's not a busy time for us, but still. This is a public area, boys. I'm afraid such a display would be...frowned on by the congregation."

"I don't mind."

The three turned as one to find a young woman who had apparently not realised she had spoken aloud until their attention was on her.

Face burning, she quietly returned to playing shogi. Everyone involved silently agreed to pretend she hadn't interrupted.

"Yes, well, if you could kindly...put your clothes on."

"Alright," was the response, as if someone had just requested he lend them a pen, not make himself decent in a religious setting.

"We are sorry - I'm afraid we got rather swept away," if certain parties were around, they might have felt rather cheated at the realisation that Yusuke Kitagawa could actually recognise and apologise for a social faux pas.

"That's...alright. It actually brings me to another point. While it's true Jesus' crucifixion on the cross is a symbol of deep suffering, perhaps the message we should focus on now is one of 'forgiveness'."

* * *

Later, as they exited the church, Yusuke turned to his companion (who was still doing up a few remaining buttons).

"I admire your steadfast devotion to art. It must be said, you seemed completely at ease the entire time, even when we were discovered."

His companion simply shrugged, and said something that would stay with Yusuke for a long while.

"If you've got it, flaunt it."

Yusuke nodded as he received this sage wisdom.

"Even so, how did you remain so calm?"

Another shrug. Yusuke was eloquent enough, but he was most expressive in the realm of the visual - he could not find a suitably poetic phrase to encapsulate the courage he so admired.

It would only be after spending some time with his other compatriots (one in particular) that he would find something he felt fit perfectly.  
  
'Big brass ones'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting overambitious with your chapter length so it stalls/you lose it repeatedly, then scrap it after several months of nothing and do something completely different.


	5. Kill em with kindness

_KINDNESS_

 

 "So...the toilet."

The Shadow shifted uncomfortably, an effect which was...enhanced by its unusual seat (transport? Limb?).

"Dunno what that has to do with anything," it grumbled.

"How does it feel?"

* * *

 

_"Ugh, gross."_

_"Ann."_

_"Panther!"_

_"Not the point!"_

_"But it is gross!"_

* * *

 

The Shadow took no notice - many people (and...psychological phenomena demons) found it difficult to focus on anyone  _but_ Joker when he'd engaged them.

"I dunno...it's a toilet, y'know?"

"Comfortable?"

"Well - I guess."

"Do you think, perhaps, that you're afraid to leave it?"

The Shadow made an indignant sound, which seemed strange since dignity was not exactly something the Phantom Thieves had associated this particular enemy with.

"What? No! I - I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's part of me, you know? My form, or whatever. Uh, that's right! I'm part of the sea of human souls, so how about we -"

"I'm more interested in  _your_ soul right now."

Belphegor, to the shock of all but one, began to cry.

* * *

 

_"Awwww..."_

_"Really Noir?"_

_"I feel bad for him. He's so vulnerable."_

_"You shot him with a bazooka like, five minutes ago."_

_Noir gave an indignant sniff, a rarely used skill, nevertheless made effective by long years of heiress-ing._

_"Well, I don't see how that means I can't sympathise with him."_

_"You were laughing while you did it."_

_"Cackling."_

_"Hmph." (The effect of this sound was somewhat lessened by Noir indignantly puffing out her cheeks and blushing.)_

* * *

 

Belphegor continued to sob.

"I was born with it!"

* * *

 

_"Are Shadows born?"_

_"Shush!"_

* * *

 

"An umbilical cord."

"It feels better! Natural!"

"A safety blanket."

"Why are you judging me?"

"I'm not here to judge. But to listen."

The Shadow recovered somewhat, still sniffling, blinking up at the suddenly much closer...enemy? Confidant?

"Maybe...I could try going without. Changing my form a little. But - if it doesn't work out - if I really do have a better life with it...is that so bad?"

Joker reached down and placed a hand on the Shadow's shoulder (this was made somewhat awkward by the anatomical improbability of Belphegor's entire being, but somehow Joker made it look good. Touching, even).

"It's only bad if  _you_ think it is. But you need to find out for yourself. To show yourself where the shame comes from."

"Can I do that...with you?"

* * *

_"Is the Shadow....hitting on him?"_

_"Lots of Shadows hit on Joker."_

_"Yeah, but usually they're babes."_

_"...you think some of the Shadows are 'babes'?"_

_"Well, yeah."_

_"The ones that are trying to kill us."_

_"I mean, not all of them, but, y'know, a few of them are pretty...hey, quit looking at me like that!"_

_"Do you...I mean, do you 'think' about them?"_

_"..."_

_"Oh, Skull."_

* * *

 Joker shook his head. "This is a journey you need to make on your own."

Belphegor sniffed, but nodded.

"I'll never forget you."

Joker patted the toiletbound demon reassuringly.

"I wish you the best of luck on your journey."

There was a moment of beatific, perfect companionship.

Joker leaned in. The Shadow looked at him adoringly. __

* * *

 

_"Are they going to -"_

_"They're not..."_

_"It would make for a powerful piece."_

_"Not the time, Fox!"_

_"Is anyone else kind of turn-"_

_"NO."_

* * *

 Finally, they were face-to-face, noses almost touching.

Joker spoke in a barely audible whisper that nonetheless seemed to fill the space around them.

"That'll be 10,000 yen."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through about 80 different ideas that were subsequently lost, abandoned or somehow drifted into the aether. Finally, after who knows how long, is the fifth point on this star.

**Author's Note:**

> Cranking out some drabbles that, at least initially, are intended to be based on an unusual interpretation of Joker's social stats - although I'm hardly an expert on them, given my embarrassingly small star at this late stage of the game (which is something I hope you note - I haven't quite finished it up yet, so I'd rather people kept their comments spoiler free, for myself and any other slowpokes out there. Pretty Please.)
> 
> Picked Ren this time, might switch it with Akira/Joker/Protag/Bepis Bepis depending on mood.
> 
> So! Enjoy. Or not. I'm a fanfic writer, not a teen detective.


End file.
